Legal Speed
by LazyHaze
Summary: Go home, Lucas. Please, just go home," she trembles, voice quivering as she forgoes any chance of retaining her dignity. [BrookeLucas]


**Title:** Legal Speed  
**Author:** LazyHaze  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Summary:** _And yet, Lucas also shares one unfortunate quality with coffee. He is just as addictive and gives her an even greater high._ Post-Suddenly Everything Has Changed  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing other than the clothes on my back. OTH and all its characters all belong to Mark, The WB, etc. No copyright infringement is intended

Brooke Davis despises coffee. 

She hates its filthy brown color.

And it's cruel, bitter taste. No amount of milk, sugar, Coffeemate could ever alleviate that taste.

If this was the 'legal speed', she'll take her chances with the real thing.

But, above all, what she hates most about the crap was the fact that she can't survive without it. Brooke Davis without her morning cup of heavy-caffeinated coffee is like Courtney Love without her weekly failed comebacks. Basically, an invitation for the next apocalypse which is the last thing Brooke needs on her agenda. Besides, the end of the world could wait until after she finished high school. So every morning, reluctantly but without fail, she has her customary cup.

However, there is one thing Brooke loathes more than coffee. Something equally as filthy, cruel, and bitter. Only this time, 'it' is about 5 foot 10, has blonde hair, blue eyes, and is permanently attached to a basketball. Some describe 'it' as 'friend', 'son', 'brother', or ultimately 'Lucas Scott'. Brooke thinks scum-of-the-earth-who-cheats-on-girls-with-their-best-friends-manwhore fits more appropriately. And yet, Lucas also shares one unfortunate quality with coffee. He is just as addictive and gives her an even greater high.

And that's how Brooke finds herself Saturday morning.

Lying completely naked in her bed, the son-of-a-bitch snoozing next to her, as she sips 'Folgers in your cup'. She sighs and downs the bitter black liquid. How did she get here? Her mind drifts to the night before. Him, with another pathetic apology. Her, with words sharp as a knife, ready to retaliate. A hormonally-charged screaming match turned into rough hatesex. _It's your own fault, you slut_, Brooke screams inside, _you wanted it_. _You liked it rough. You liked feeling him inside of you. Because you knew he cheated on you. And that makes you hot._ The words echo in her brain. _Slut…slut…slut…_

She shudders and bites her lip...hard...drawing fresh blood. The blood drips down her chin and forms a small pool of red in her hand. Brooke's always liked blood, for some morbid reason. She has a fetish for the thick velvet color and the slight taste of iron. If Lucas had stayed with her long enough, she would've told him this, among other things. She would've told him about her never ending obsession with Dawson's Creek, her secret love for European history, and her fear of bees. But no, she can't think about the past, about the way she was with Lucas. It was nothing, she was just too blind to realize it then.

Besides hers, Lucas finally stirs. He yawns and rolls over onto his side facing her. She immediately sees the regret in his eyes as he realizes who the girl besides him is and who she isn't.

"Brooke..." he says, grasping for words and looking anywhere but directly in her eyes.

She quickly cuts him off. "Look, I don't have time for your shit. We were heated, you were horny, I'm a slut, we fucked. I've made it simple for you. This never happened. You can go back to your daily program of screwing my ex-best friend," she snaps, bitterness apparent in her voice.

A pained expression appears on Lucas's face but he says nothing. He simply grazes one hand along Brooke's shoulder. As skin meets raw flesh, an electrical jolt shoots through Brooke's body.

"Don't...touch...me," she hisses, quickly brushing off his hand. She turns her back away from him and prays. _Don't let him do this to you, Brooke Davis. Be strong. You're too weak...so weak_, she silently sobs. She drapes the white bedsheet around her and attempts to untangle the mass of their discarded clothes on the floor, anything that'll distract her from the situation at hand.

"Brooke, please, just listen," Lucas pleads, reaching up to grab her arm.

She pushes him away. "STOP! You can't have the best of both worlds, Lucas. You just CAN'T. You chose and you chose Peyton...they, they always do...," she trails off, her voice dropping to a whisper. She turns around to face him, putting on the 'take no shit' facade she dons every morning. And suddenly, it hits her. _He's not even thinking about 'this', about me. He's thinking about **her**_. His words might prove otherwise but she can tell simply by the look in his eyes. She knows the gaze so well. _**They**_ all have the same one when it comes to Peyton. Soft and dreamy as they think of their golden goddess waiting back at home. It's always been like this and she wonders why she was so stupid to think Lucas was different.

God. She can't do this anymore, she can't take it. "Go home, Lucas. Please, just go home," she trembles, voice quivering as she forgoes any chance of retaining her dignity.

And with that, without even waiting for a response, Brooke Davis slowly walks away, enshrouded by billowing white sheets that swoop around her as the wind catches them. _Chin up, back straight, shoulders square_, she orders herself. But inside, she's dying and for the first time, she finally realizes, no one is there to save her.


End file.
